


Walk A Mile Outta My Head

by dreambastion



Series: Walk A Mile [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Dom!Eames, Dominant/Submissive, Explicit Language, Light Bondage, Light Masochism, M/M, Sexual Content, sub!Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 14:16:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8848255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreambastion/pseuds/dreambastion
Summary: Sometimes Arthur needs to clear his mind and reset...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Arthur as a sub, because I feel like someone who is that focused on details all the time needs to let it all go once in awhile.
> 
> This quote is something I found after starting this fic, but it perfectly encapsulates how I picture this to be for Arthur:
> 
>  
> 
> _One of the greatest things a Dom can do for their sub is to silence their mind. To allow them to let go of the world and simply **be**._

Arthur was going to kill someone. Strangle them with his bare hands. Shoot them in the face. Stab them with a ballpoint pen. Throw them in the River Spree and hope that Berlin’s finest didn’t find them until he had left town.

He really wasn’t picky, and he was sure it would be justified. He just wanted bloodshed.

He didn’t really want bloodshed. It was just that he had a pounding headache nestled right behind his left eye, he was having a hard time concentrating, and everyone on the job seemed stupider than normal.

And Eames wouldn’t quit staring at him, watching him like a bug under a microscope. It was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in a way that made him feel like prey being stalked by a much larger predator.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed their chemist, Daniel, lingering nervously, waiting to talk to Arthur. The nervousness, combined with the fact that Daniel had stayed just out of reach, irritated Arthur even more.

“For fucks sake, its not like I’m going to stab you or something,” Arthur shouted, despite having just been thinking that very thing, “Just spit it out already!”

Daniel cringed and Jill, their extractor, threw down the papers in her hand with a curse.

“That’s it! I don’t know what crawled up your ass and died, Arthur, but quit taking it out on the team,” she yelled across the room. Arthur spun around and glared at Jill, his mouth opening to argue back.

“Sit down and shut the fuck up!” Jill ordered, and to his dismay, Arthur did just that. He couldn’t tell if Jill was more shocked at her own ballsiness, or the fact that Arthur had obeyed. He stood back up as quickly as he had sat and made a beeline for the door, pointedly ignoring the stares of everyone in the room as he left.

+_+_+_+_+

Eames was starting to doubt his sanity.

He’d been watching Arthur for the last two days, noting the hyper levels of irritation and scorn he was directing at the rest of the team. He knew Arthur had no problem being curt with a coworker that he felt needed to be yanked back in line, but this had moved beyond that into pissed-off-at-the-world territory. Arthur was usually much better at controlling his emotions than that.

But it wasn’t really the cutting comments and anger-filled glances that had caught Eames’ attention.

No, it was other little things that Eames had noticed Arthur doing. The way he reacted to any request with a quickly hidden shift of his body in that direction as though his instinctive response was to _just do it_ . The way he had let his fingers slip almost lovingly over a piece of rope that the architect was using for their model and then snatched his hand away and glanced around quickly to see if anyone was paying attention (and Eames was always, _always_ paying attention when Arthur was around). And it was the desperate hunger in his eyes that he could only hide by keeping his head down and focused on his work.

Eames thought he knew what it added up to, which was where the doubting of his sanity came in. It was either that, or he was projecting his own desires on Arthur much more strongly than normal.

But then the impossible had happened - Arthur immediately obeying Jill’s unintentional command - and for a brief, miniscule moment there had been a flicker of relief in Arthur’s expression.

Maybe, just maybe, Eames wasn’t insane after all.

+_+_+_+_+

Arthur didn’t return to the office until the following morning, and he spent the first few hours of the day with his head down and acknowledged no one. It was almost mid-day and he realized that Eames was standing to the side of his desk, watching him.

“Go away, Eames.”

“I’m heading out for some lunch. I’d like you to come with me,” Eames replied, ignoring Arthur’s surly tone.

“No,” Arthur said without looking up. Eames placed his palms on the desk next to Arthur’s papers and leaned closer.

“I said, I’d like for you to come with me,” Eames repeated, his tone firm. Arthur heard the command in that phrase and his head snapped up so fast he could have given himself whiplash. He met Eames’ gaze and recognized a glint there, a hardness, that he had never seen in Eames before. He nodded and stood without responding.

Once on the sidewalk outside they fell into step silently and Arthur watched him surreptitiously from the corner of his eye. He’d always found Eames attractive… no, not attractive... gorgeous, if he was being honest with himself. But the thought of muddying up work with the potential fallout had always dampened the appeal. They’d walked a few blocks before Eames finally spoke.

“How long has it been, Arthur?” he asked.

 _There’s no way he could know…_ Arthur thought.

“How long since what?” Arthur countered. Eames sighed and veered suddenly into an alley, pulling Arthur with him and pushing his back against the brick wall. Arthur met his gaze defiantly, but Eames just gave him an exasperated look.

“I know the signs of a sub who is itching for a scene,” Eames said. Arthur’s thoughts ground to a halt as he tried to process that statement. For Eames to recognize the signs meant that either he was also a sub, or he was a dom. Arthur shivered at that idea, his mind immediately filled with images of Eames’ strong hands spanking his ass red, tying rope around his wrists, holding a flogger… He shook his head to clear it when he realized that Eames was still talking.

“There is a very nice private club here in town. I’m a member, so I could get us a room,” Eames offered, a little hesitancy in his voice.

“Why?” Arthur asked, and thought he should clarify, but Eames seemed to understand what he was asking.

“I’m careful to keep certain parts of my life separate, as you apparently are, too. You wouldn’t tell anyone about me, because that would be the height of hypocrisy, and that isn’t your style. As for why I would offer,” Eames paused to shrug, “I can’t stand to see a sub in need. Particularly if it’s you, darling. I don’t think my heart could handle watching you struggle like this for the rest of the job.”

There was a slight flush to Eames’ cheeks and his eyes shifted away from Arthur, a tell that he had admitted something he didn’t want to, or thought would be received badly. Arthur wanted to roll that over until he puzzled it out, but he shelved it for later, when he could think more clearly. When Arthur didn’t reply, Eames took a step back towards the alley entrance.

“Look, just think about it, all right. We can have a drink later and talk things over if you’re interested,” he said. Arthur just nodded and Eames motioned towards the street.

“Let’s go get lunch, then. You might think about buying for everyone, to make up for how much of a prat you’ve been so far,” Eames suggested with a smirk. Arthur rolled his eyes, but pulled his wallet out as he followed Eames into the sandwich shop.

+_+_+_+_+

_Join me in your hotel bar if you want to talk_

Arthur hadn’t decided if he would accept Eames' offer, but he made his way down to the bar anyway. He found Eames at a semi-private table in the back corner, and was thankful he had chosen a spot away from possible eavesdroppers. He slid into the opposite side of the booth and was surprised to find a glass of bourbon waiting for him.

He picked up the drink and took a sip, relishing the light burn as it slid down his throat. He kept his focus on his hands, despite feeling Eames’ gaze locked on him, willing him to look up. He held out as long as he could, which to his chagrin was only moments. He finally lifted his head and was rewarded with a pleased smile from Eames. He was surprised at the warmth that spread through him at the easy quirk of Eames’ lips.

“If we do this, we do it at the club. It needs to be neutral ground,” Arthur blurted out. Eames nodded and leaned back in his seat, his ankle brushing against Arthur’s as he sprawled his legs out. Arthur wanted to shift his leg away, but Eames was taking up all the space, filling it and surrounding Arthur even from across the table.

“Of course. We’ll do this the right way, Arthur. I don’t fool around with this,” Eames assured him.

“This will be a one time contract, a temporary arrangement. I am _not_ your sub,” Arthur said and Eames cocked his head, studying Arthur with a rueful smile.

“Oh, darling, I’m all too aware of that. I doubt that you’ve ever been anyone’s sub. I’m sure you have dominants that you prefer to play with, but you’ve never _belonged_ to them. I’d wager a year’s earnings that you’ve never worn a collar.”

Something about Eames’ tone twisted Arthur’s gut, but he ignored it and pressed on determinedly.

“And this better not be some trick just to get in my pants, Eames, because I will hurt you.’

“Oh really, Arthur. If you truly thought I was that callous, you wouldn’t be sitting across from me right now. Unless sex is part of what you need, our pants will stay on the entire scene,” Eames replied, reprimand clear in his tone, and he tapped the side of his shoe hard against Arthur’s ankle.

And that was when Arthur knew he needed to take Eames up on his offer - that simple admonishing tap of Eames’ foot and the tone in his voice did more to calm the ragged edge of Arthur’s nerves than alcohol or drugs ever could. His thoughts simplified for a moment, crystallizing on the fact that he had upset Eames and needed to make it better, needed to make him smile again.

Arthur fisted his hands against his eyes and dropped forward until his forehead was resting on the table. He took several deep breaths in an effort to refocus on the conversation at hand.

“This is such a bad idea,” he whispered, tasting his own lie in the words. He thought he said it softly enough that Eames hadn’t heard him, until his sharp voice cut through to Arthur.

“Sit up and look at me,” Eames said and Arthur jerked upright and dropped his hands to the table top without hesitation. Eames’ expression softened and he reached across the table to run a thumb over Arthur’s knuckles.

“Pet, you need this so badly you’re drowning in it. You’re important to me, Arthur. Please let me help you,” he said, and it may have been the plea, or the thought that saying yes would make Eames happy, but Arthur nodded and unclenched his fists.

“Ah, love - how did it get this bad?” Eames asked as he settled back against his seat and picked up his drink.

“I make it a point to have regular scenes, usually every so many jobs, but the last scene I had planned was canceled at the last minute and I didn’t have time to reschedule before I had to leave town,” Arthur paused and swirled his drink in its glass while he decided how best to explain, “Look, I enjoy a little pain, but I’m not really a masochist. I rarely have sex in a scene. It isn’t about pain or getting off or any of that, not for me.”

“So why do you play?”

“I do it to clear my head. I spend so much of my life mired down in details and plans and focus that sometimes I need to let go of it all and let someone else make the decisions and take care of me, even if just for a couple of hours,” Arthur explained.

“So, you like orders. Someone else setting clear cut guidelines. Life simplified for a short while,” Eames summarized, and Arthur nodded, relieved that Eames _got it_.

“So what do you like in a scene?” Eames asked.

“Light bondage. I prefer to be at least partially restrained. It helps me, mentally, with relinquishing control. Give me something to do, or focus on, that doesn’t require me to over-analyze what is happening.”

“Punishments?”

“Spanking or slapping is fine. Keep it open-handed and below the shoulders. A flogger is acceptable, but keep it relatively light. You break skin or leave noticeable welts and I’ll take it out of your hide,” Arthur said.

“No need for threats, Arthur, I’ve got the picture. It’s not about the pain of the punishment, but about the act of being punished, because it means you didn’t do what you were told,” Eames agreed.

“Right,” Arthur replied, surprised at how easily Eames seemed to understand. Arthur had been visiting his current dom for a few years, and it had taken multiple scenes before she really got to the core of what Arthur was trying to explain that he wanted.

“Do you go into subspace?” Eames asked.

“To a degree. Without the endorphins I don’t usually go too deep, but I get as far as I need to so that I can wipe the slate clean in my head.”

“Ever dropped after a scene?”

“Not anything concerning. I tend to level off pretty quickly after,” Arthur explained.

“Anything else I should know before I draw up a contract?” Eames asked, and Arthur couldn’t fight the blush that spread across his cheeks.

“I’m a cuddler… afterwards,” he admitted quietly. Eames face lit up in a delighted grin.

“Really? Interesting,” he said and Arthur glared at him half-heartedly.

“Also interesting is the fact that if I had guessed you were into the lifestyle at all, I would have pegged you for a dom,” Eames continued, his tone almost too casual.

“I was, when I first started trying things out. But I spend enough of my time with other people’s lives and sanity potentially in the palm of my hand when I take point on a job. I decided I didn’t want to be responsible for other’s emotional and mental states while playing, too. But the clarity I get from a scene was something I didn’t want to give up, so I tried subbing, and it works for me,” Arthur told him and gave Eames a piercing stare, “Have you ever switched?”

“A few times. With a dominant that I knew, a mentor of mine, who was also a very close friend. One of the few people in my life that I had complete trust in,” Eames admitted. Arthur wanted to ask more about that, wanted to know who else Eames had ever had complete trust in, but Eames finished his drink and stood, a clear signal the conversation was over.

“I’d like nothing more than to sit and share many drinks with you, darling, but I’d like to write up the contract while our conversation is fresh in my mind. I’ll get it to you tomorrow and you can make your final decision,” Eames said. He paused and touched his fingertips to Arthur’s jaw, briefly, and then was gone before the heat from his touch had a chance to soak into Arthur’s skin.

Arthur downed the rest of his drink, and was tempted to have several more. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to sleep much.

+_+_+_+_+

Arthur usually got to their workspace before anyone else, so he was surprised to walk in and find a file folder and a still steaming cup of coffee on his desk. He breathed the smell of the coffee in, and could tell from the hazelnut aroma that it was fixed the way he liked. He flipped the folder open and found a neatly printed contract for a scene, with Eames signature already at the bottom.

He read through the document, confirming that Eames had lined out the basics of the scene as they had discussed. Eames had even left a blank field so that Arthur could fill in his safeword. He traced Eames’ name at the bottom with his finger, mentally completing one final comparison of the pros and cons. Finally, he picked up his pen and signed it before he could talk himself out of it.

When Eames walked in later and passed by, Arthur held the file up without a word and Eames took it and continued on his way across the room. A few minutes later he saw Eames walk outside with his phone to his ear, and ten minutes after that, Arthur’s phone beeped a message alert. The message was an address and a time for that evening. Arthur put his phone away and settled in to work for the the day.

+_+_+_+_+

Arthur ran a hand over his hair and straightened his tie before he walked through the heavy wooden door of the club. The lobby was tastefully done in jewel tones, heavy furniture arranged in clusters and lush greenery in the corners. It was nicer than a lot of clubs he’d been in, and he felt some of the tension bleed from his frame.  He squared his shoulders and walked over to the front desk. He filled out the required waivers and the hostess gave him a key card and pointed down the hall.

He paused outside the door, fidgeting with his cufflinks, as he weighed the option of just walking out. He knew he needed to do this, and when he thought about doing this with Eames, his body warmed in a pleasant way, but he couldn’t deny the lingering thought that he was giving his control over to someone who might know him more intimately than any of his past relationships because of the nature of their work.

Arthur pushed all that from his mind and unlocked the door. Eames was inside, leaning against a bondage table and watching the door, obviously waiting for Arthur. He was barefoot and wearing faded and torn jeans that rode loose and low across his hips and a faded gray t-shirt that may have been a size or two too small, as snug as it fit.

Arthur’s mouth went dry and he wondered how it was that in all the years he had known Eames that he had never realized just how fit Eames was. The shirt left no doubt as to just how well toned his upper body was, and Arthur suddenly couldn’t think of anything else except Eames’ strength. Strength enough to handle Arthur, to protect, to control.

“All right there, Arthur?” Eames asked and Arthur had to drag his gaze away from Eames’ bicep.

“Yes, fine,” Arthur tried to say, but it came out as more of a croak. Eames looked as though he heard and understood the reason for the lie, but he let it go.

“We’ll go over my idea for tonight and you let me know if it’s acceptable. Since I’ve never played with you before, I may not have gotten it just right,” Eames said as he pushed away from the table and crossed to stand in front of Arthur.

“Okay.”

“I’m going to partially strip you. Then I’m going to tie you up and make you kneel on that cushion,” Eames said and pointed to a pillow on the floor between a small sofa and an ottoman, “You’re going to kneel there while I read to you.”

“Read to me?” Arthur asked incredulously.

“Yes, read to you. I’m going to read, and you are going to kneel there and listen, with your eyes on me. I’m going to periodically stop and ask you questions about the book. With me so far?” Eames asked. Arthur nodded, still puzzled. Eames walked over to another table and returned with a leather flogger in his hand. He hadn’t thought Eames could look any sexier, but this image would be burned into his brain until the day he died.

“If you address me without respect or you try to test your bonds, you get two lashes. If you do not keep your eyes on me or if you shift out of the position I place you in, you get five lashes. If you can’t answer a question I ask about the book or if you speak out of turn, you get ten lashes.”

When Eames finished outlining the punishments, Arthur realized that he had shifted into a parade rest stance (feet braced apart, hands behind his back, the position a permanent part of his muscle memory), and he swallowed heavily. He was reacting more strongly to Eames than he had any dominant he’d ever done a scene with.

“What should I address you as to show the proper respect?” he asked quietly.

“Sir will do,” Eames replied, and though his lips didn’t lift at the corners, Arthur could see the pleased smile in the crinkles around his eyes.

He considered Eames’ plan and it hit him, hard, just how well Eames seemed to understand him. By making him kneel and listen, he would have to force work from his mind and focus on Eames. Punishments would be meted out for things that Arthur could very easily slip up and do if he let his mind wander.

“Is the plan acceptable?” Eames finally asked.

“Yes, it’s… well, it’s sort of ingenious, really,” Arthur said and was rewarded with an open, pleasantly surprised smile from Eames.

“Arthur saying that one of my plans is ingenious?  I should have a plaque made,” he joked.

“Oh, shut up,” Arthur replied without heat. Eames winked at him, and then in a blink, his smile had fallen away and his dominance settled over him like a shroud.

“Then it’s time we got started,” Eames said. He walked over and circled slowly around Arthur, eyeing him up and down, while Arthur did his best to not fidget.

“You will take your shoes and socks off and place them on the floor by that table,” Eames said and pointed to their left, “And you will take your jacket, shirts and tie off and lay them on the table.”

“Yes, sir.”  Arthur removed the particular items of clothing and laid them carefully on the table, his shoes lined up with his socks tucked inside them. When he was done, he walked back to stand in front of Eames, naturally dropping back into his parade rest stance. Eames smirked and nodded, probably recognizing the years of military habit that indicated.

“Now you’re going to kneel on that cushion.”

Arthur took two steps towards the couch when Eames’ voice rang out in command, “Stop.”

Arthur froze, and knew right away what he had done wrong.

“You didn’t give the correct verbal response to my order, did you?” Eames asked.

“No, sir,” Arthur replied.

“And what is the punishment for not showing me the proper respect?”

“Two lashes, sir.”

“You will kneel, and then I will administer your punishment,” Eames said.

“Yes, sir.”

Arthur knelt on the pillow and held still as Eames moved to stand behind him. He heard a shift in air just before the tails of the flogger connected with his skin.. Two quick strikes, and Arthur felt a slight burn on his shoulder blades.

“Now, you will be perfectly still while I tie your ankles.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Arthur breathed out.

Arthur couldn’t see what Eames was doing, but he could tell from the movements that Eames was good with knots. When Eames had finished with Arthur’s ankles, wrapping the rope in multiple figure eights and tying it off, he leaned around to look at Arthur’s face. He must have been satisfied with what he saw, because he picked up another length of rope in his hands.

“Sit back on your heels and place your arms in the box position,” Eames said and Arthur shifted his weight back as he folded his arms behind his back, elbows to wrists. Eames looped the rope around Arthur’s forearms, strapping them together, and then ran the length of rope down to connect to Arthur’s ankles, hogtieing him.

He heard Eames move away, back to the other side of the room, and he flexed his arms, testing the tightness of the knots and the strength of the rope. The rope was softer on his skin than any that he’d experienced, but it was strong and did not give.

“Arthur, you’re not off to a very good start. I told you not to test your bonds, didn’t I?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s another two lashes.” No sooner had Eames said it than Arthur felt the leather bite into his shoulders twice. He hissed slightly at the sting, but remained still.

“Now, are you going to behave?” Eames asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

Eames dropped onto the couch in front of Arthur and swung a leg over Arthur’s head. He stretched one leg out onto the ottoman, his thigh pressed against Arthur’s side, and his other foot was braced on the stool, his leg bent so that his knee was against Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur was tied and settled neatly in a cage made of Eames. Something shifted in his chest and a breath eased out, leaching the remaining tension from his body.

Eames settled back against the cushions, lounging with the flogger in one hand and a book in the other. He smiled at Arthur, but it wasn’t like any smile Arthur had ever seen on him. Eames was a forger, a con-man, so Arthur had seen a multitude of different expressions cross his face, but this smile had an edge to it that he’d never witnessed. It wasn’t unfriendly, but there was a hardness that lingered in his eyes - it sent a thrill down Arthur’s spine.

Eames opened the book and started reading, and it took Arthur a few minutes to realize that he was reading _On the Origin of Species_. His disbelief must have shown on his face, because Eames stopped and smiled at him.

“I took a guess that you’d never read it. I needed something I was confident you wouldn’t be able to answer questions on unless you were actually paying attention.”

He went back to reading, his voice pitched low and soothing, and Arthur let his body grow lax, his limbs loosening as he focused on Eames’ voice. Soon they had made it twenty pages in (Arthur was counting the page turns) and he had already answered one set of questions correctly. Arthur’s nose had started to itch slightly, so he tried wiggling it and took a deep breath to see if he could alleviate the irritation.

That’s when he smelled Eames, _really_ smelled him. Arthur was surrounded by him, and knew that it was Eames’ scent that had been nudging at the edges of his awareness, but taking that deep breath had pulled it further into his lungs.

Warmth, amber and musk, some spice, sharp and clear - it was enough to make Arthur’s mouth water. Without even realizing that he was doing it, he slowly pitched forward until his nose brushed the crease of Eames’ hip. He breathed as deep as he could, taking the scent in until it blotted out any other awareness.

He was so engulfed by the sensation that he didn’t realize at first that Eames had grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head away, tugging hard enough to make his eyes water.

“What are you doing, Arthur?” Eames asked, his expression clearly displeased.

“You smell so good…” Arthur paused as another wave of the scent hit him and he licked his lips and added in a softer tone, “I bet you taste even better.”

Eames stared at him, studied him a moment, and then finally released his hair.

“If I told you to suck my cock, you’d do it, wouldn’t you?” Eames asked.

“Yes, sir,” Arthur replied and mentally winced at how eager he sounded.

“If I told you I wanted to bend you backwards over that ottoman and fuck your mouth until you choked on it, you would let me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” Arthur squirmed a little at the sudden pressure of his own erection pressing on his zipper.

“And what kind of dom would that make me, Arthur, if I broke the simplest of the rules in our contract?” Eames asked and Arthur froze as shame washed over him. His face burned from mortification as he realized what he had done, putting his dom in that position, putting _Eames_ in that position...

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m so sorry for tempting you,” Arthur whispered and Eames laughed sharply.

“Oh, Arthur darling, you tempt me every time you take a breath,” he said, and his smile was wistful and a little sad, and it made Arthur’s heart ache in a way he didn’t recognize.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said again, not sure this time which transgression he was apologizing for, the most recent, or for not realizing over the years they had known each other just how much Eames really cared about him. It was obvious to Arthur now, after adding up all the pieces that had been exposed over the past few days.

“You broke three rules that time, Arthur. You moved, you didn’t address me correctly and you spoke out of turn. How many lashes is that?”

“Seventeen, sir.”

“Count them out loud.”

Eames varied the location and rhythm, but Arthur kept accurate count, his voice hissing slightly on the last few because his upper back was burning. Eames returned to his reclining position on the couch, Arthur once again bracketed by his legs, and picked up the book.

Arthur sat perfectly still, his eyes locked on Eames’ face as he began reading again. He’d disobeyed more than usual this time, something he chalked up to familiarity with Eames and their sometimes contentious relationship. He was determined to finish the scene the right way, _needed_ to finish it the right way, for both himself and Eames.

So he listened, focused only on Eames’ voice and the minute changes in his expression as he read. Arthur kept his breathing steady and even, and after two chapters and various correctly answered questions, Eames’ voice began to muffle and Arthur’s vision tunneled so that he only saw Eames’ eyes.

He was marginally aware of Eames looking at him, the book placed off to the side. Eames didn’t ask him any questions, just reached out to touch Arthur’s cheek. Arthur leaned into the touch, the heat from the caress like a brand on his skin. He felt Eames grasp his neck and maneuver him so that his cheek was resting on Eames’ thigh, and then Eames was reading again.

Arthur floated there on a cloud of Eames; the scratch of fingernails across his scalp, the rub of worn denim on his cheek, the flex of thigh muscle under his head, the lulling sound of his voice, that delectable scent once again surrounding Arthur.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, but he eventually became aware of the roughness in Eames’ voice from reading so long. He could feel the ache growing in his knees despite the cushion under them. He could feel the twinges in his arms from being held in the same position for so long.

Eames must have noticed his restless shifting, because he put the book down and squeezed gently on the nape of Arthur’s neck.

“All right there, pet?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, sir,” he whispered as he nodded against Eames’ leg.

“I’m going to untie you now.” Arthur remained perfectly still as Eames removed the rope and gently rubbed the skin.

“Come up here,” Eames said and pulled Arthur onto the couch. Arthur moved with a quiet _Yes, sir_ and let Eames shift and move him until they were both stretched out, Arthur’s head on Eames’ chest. Eames draped one arm over Arthur’s back and resumed running his fingers lightly through Arthur’s hair.

Arthur let his senses slowly sharpen, taking time to let his awareness come back to the surface. Eames just held him; quiet and soothing, petting him across his back and shoulders, rubbing a thumb across the back of Arthur’s hand where it rested on Eames’ stomach. As Arthur’s brain began to kick back to normal activity again, he couldn’t help but think about Eames, and this, and his own long-buried attraction to the forger.

It scared him a little, how normal this had felt with _Eames_ , of all people. He had challenged Eames, hadn’t immediately jumped at every command, but Arthur had always been that way with a new dominant partner, and this being Eames had only added another layer to that. This was why he rarely tried new doms unless he had to; there was always an adjustment period, and some doms didn’t want a sub that didn’t fall over themselves to obey. But despite that, this had felt… _natural_.

Eames, who he had placed in a box in his mind, and who no longer fit that box at all. The Eames he knew - careless smiles, watchful eyes, slouched shoulders to hide the bulk that he carried with enviable grace, hiding it so that he could blend more easily into the crowd. That now had to be reconciled with the Eames of tonight - the one who stood straight and tall with his shoulders back, his gaze assertive, his smile sharp at the edges, his presence imposing enough that it would draw every eye in a crowded room.

Arthur shifted against Eames, suddenly wanting nothing more than to bury his nose in the hollow of Eames’ throat to smell him… and maybe take a little taste of his skin, too. That thought had his cock twitching in his pants and he wanted to move away, but he was trapped between Eames and the back of the couch, his crotch pressed into Eames’ hip.

Eames must have felt him fidgeting, because he slipped his hand under Arthur’s chin and tilted his head up so their eyes met.

“How are you doing?” he asked, a soft intensity to his voice that warmed Arthur in unexpected ways.

“I’m good now, sir,” he replied, and Eames smiled.

“I think we can drop the sir now, darling. You seem to be yourself again,” Eames said and Arthur nodded. Eames stood and held out a water bottle to Arthur. He drank it while Eames retrieved Arthur’s clothes from across the room. He dressed quickly, and thought he might have seen a flash of disappointment in Eames’ gaze as he buttoned his shirt.

“The rope… I’ve never seen any quite like that. It was softer than I’ve ever worked with,” Arthur commented, curious but also trying to fill the yawning silence between them.

“It’s made by a dominant named Roman who works at a club in Prague. You can only get the rope if you sub in a scene with him, or if you let him witness a scene with you as a dominant. He is very particular about who is allowed to use it,” Eames explained.

“It doesn’t leave marks,” Arthur noted.

“I’ve never used it on anyone before, but I thought it fitting for you tonight, because it wouldn’t cause the usual abrasions on the skin,” Eames said as he grabbed one of Arthur’s hands to push his sleeve up and run his fingers over the unmarked skin of Arthur’s forearm. Arthur couldn’t hide his tremble at the caress, and he wanted to lean into Eames and just listen to his heart beating. Instead he pulled his hand away and slipped his jacket on.

“I can help you straighten up, if you want,” he offered, but Eames shook his head.

“No, you should go and get to sleep. It won’t take me long; it’s not like we really did anything to mess the place up.”

“Okay then…” Arthur walked to the door and paused with his handle on the knob, awkwardness causing an unfamiliar stiffness in his movements as he turned back to say, “Thank you, Eames.”

“Anytime, darling,” Eames responded with his usual flirtatious grin, but now Arthur could read the truth in the creases around his lips. He responded with a shy smile and left.

+_+_+_+_+

Eames wasn’t completely sure what to expect from Arthur once they were back at work, but Arthur was… Arthur. Mostly.

He was calm and collected again, a complete turnaround from his attitude when they had arrived for the job. Everyone else was shocked for the first day, and must have decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, because no one said anything about it; they just accepted the improved Arthur and move forward.

Eames would have thought everything was perfectly normal, except…

Except that each time he walked by, Arthur would tremble a little… or Arthur would turn his head ever so slightly to track Eames movements, as though afraid to let him enter a blind spot… or Arthur’s hand would go to his pocket as though to grab something, but he would catch himself before he did… or he would take a deep, quiet breath whenever Eames came over to discuss some notes…

Finally, after two days of Arthur being normal with everyone but him, Eames cornered him in the hall, out of hearing of anyone else.

“Arthur, are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, Eames, I’m fine,” Arthur answered distractedly, more focused on a file in his hand. Eames reached out and gently pushed the papers aside.

“Arthur, I’m asking as a dom - are you okay?” Arthur’s focus shifted to Eames in a heartbeat.

“I’m fine, why would you ask that?”

“Did I do something, _anything,_ in our scene that has made you… uncomfortable? You don’t seem yourself around me right now,” Eames explained.

“No, god no, Eames. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was perfect. You were perfect,” Arthur replied in a rush, blushing slightly at his admission, “It’s just that…”

Eames waited for Arthur to finish his statement, and he wanted to prompt him to continue, but he forced himself to be patient because he could tell from Arthur’s expression that whatever he had to say, it was something he was still coming to terms with.

“I’ve never reached subspace the first time with a new dom,” he finally said, and Eames heart thumped out a wild pattern for a minute or two. For Arthur to do something like that meant that he had a much deeper trust for Eames than he thought.

To know that Arthur trusted him wasn’t a revelation in itself; when they worked together, they shared each other’s subconscious when dreaming, and watched each other’s backs when awake. That required a certain amount of trust. But this…

“I need to get back to work,” Arthur stammered out, his cheeks still stained pink. Eames almost reached for him, but decided to leave it be for now.

He would later wish he had snatched Arthur up and run with him while he had the chance, but he had no way to know that the job would be accelerated because of an illness in the mark’s family, or that Arthur would check out of his hotel in the middle of the night immediately after the job was over.

Arthur couldn’t stay away from him forever though - people always wanted the best on their team, and they were at the top of very short lists. It took six months, but Eames finally found himself sitting across a warehouse from Arthur again, this time studying a new addition to Arthur’s regular wardrobe.

At first glance, it looked like Arthur was wearing a paracord bracelet, something that could be explained away as a practical device, not a fashion accessory. But Eames knew how to see the details that others missed or subconsciously ignored so that people fit in the mold they made for them. In this case, where others saw a corded bracelet barely visible on Arthur’s wrist, Eames saw cord that was heavier than the normal paracord, that had a silken sheen that was the opposite of practical and that looked like woven onyx, that had a stylish platinum clasp that was embedded into the weave so that it was cocooned and left no outward edges, nothing to catch on sleeves as someone was reaching for weapon hidden somewhere in their clothing.

Eames waited until everyone else had left (and he had no doubt that Arthur had lingered on purpose as well) and settled one hip against the edge of the desk where Arthur was sitting, close enough to smell his cologne, but not quite invading his personal space.

“You’re doing better this time. No missed appointments?” Eames asked, and caught the miniscule hesitation before Arthur replied.

“No, no missed appointments.”

Eames reached out and dragged a finger across the corded bracelet, and Arthur twitched under the touch that never graced his skin. A flush spread across Arthur’s cheeks, and Eames was entranced by the way it stained the tips of his ears.

“And what’s this, darling? I never figured you for a jewelry type,” Eames asked, his tone casual. Arthur looked up to meet his gaze with a sardonic twist to his lips.

“Playing dumb doesn’t suit you, Eames.”

No, Eames supposed it didn’t.

“You made Roman’s acquaintance then?” Eames asked, because of course he had recognized the rope that could only be purchased from one person, in one city, in the entire world. Though this was different, smaller, made with another kind of care, he still knew the craftsmanship from across the room.

“I went there after the Berlin job.”

Eames rolled that in his mind a moment - Arthur had gone to Prague, met Roman, and left with a gift, which probably meant…  He didn’t realize his flare of jealousy was obvious until Arthur gave him an exasperated look and said, “For fucks sake, Eames, we didn’t play.”

“No? Then pray tell, why did you leave with this party favor?” Eames asked and tapped the bracelet, still avoiding direct contact with Arthur’s skin.

“I went there to get some of the rope, but you were right that I could only buy it if I did a scene with Roman, so I scheduled one. We were meeting the day before, to discuss things, and at the end he asked how I knew about the rope. I told him… well, I told him about our scene,” Arthur explained, then stopped with a look of bemusement.

“What happened next?”

“He tore up the notes he’d made and said that to his great regret he was uncomfortable doing a scene with me.”

Eames had a moment of clarity as he remembered a one line, cryptic email he had received from Roman about six months earlier, after Berlin - _Don’t let this one go_.

“I asked and asked, but he wouldn’t explain why. He did, however, ask to meet for coffee the next day, because he’d enjoyed talking to me and thought I was charming,” Arthur continued, a note of disbelief in his tone.

“You can positively ooze charm when you want to, Arthur,” Eames assured him. Arthur looked away but couldn’t hide his slight grin.

“Anyway, I met him for coffee and it was... nice. Comfortable. Like we were friends who’d known each other for years.”

Eames felt a bitter twist of jealousy in his chest again - that after only one meeting, Roman had been granted access to the comfortable, casual side of Arthur, something Eames had worked ages for and still only got in glimpses.

“He asked if we could meet again the next day, and that is when he gave me this. I asked him why, what it was for. He told me I would figure it out,” Arthur finished.

Eames looked down at the cord, gleaming starkly against Arthur’s skin. Up close, Eames could see evidence of wear, as though Arthur hadn’t taken it off since six months ago.

“And did you figure out what it’s for?” Eames asked. Arthur’s flush deepened and he dropped his gaze to stare at the desk. Eames cocked his head, waiting. When Arthur remained silent, Eames wrapped his fingers around Arthur’s wrist, the grip light, but no less commanding.

“Arthur,” he prompted, his tone firm.

“It’s an anchor.”

“Anchor?” Eames asked, genuinely puzzled. Arthur kept his eyes turned away and didn’t speak. Eames stared at the bracelet, mulling over that single word. When it finally came to him, he could have smacked himself for not putting the pieces together immediately.

“Arthur…” Eames said as he pushed his way into Arthur’s sphere, pulling him up to stand between Eames’ spread legs, both wrists braced lightly in Eames’ grasp.

“When was your last appointment?” he asked and Arthur looked everywhere but at Eames. When he didn’t answer right away Eames tightened his grip imperceptibly, his thumb pressing the cord and clasp into the underside of Arthur’s wrist. Arthur’s breath hitched slightly, and he turned back to glare at Eames.

“I haven’t needed one.”

“This is enough?” Eames asked, his thumb rasping the cord sideways across the tender skin beneath.

“Not by itself, no,” Arthur said. Eames waited, patient, knowing he would win this round. Finally Arthur huffed an irritated breath and fixed his eyes on a point over Eames’ shoulder as his answer spilled from him in a rush, “The cord is a reminder, a physical anchor. I think about you, about our evening. I remember…”

This time when Arthur stopped, Eames took pity on him. He brought Arthur’s hands up and pressed a gentle kiss to the underside of each wrist.

“You think about me, trussing you up so effortlessly. You think about my voice, washing over you. You think about the smell of me, the way it filled your nose for days afterwards. You think about the sting of the lash when you disobeyed, and you twist this against your wrist until it digs into your skin as a reminder,” Eames finished, and Arthur’s eyes were impossibly wide and his breathing stuttered in his chest.

“How…”

“Arthur, darling, you were like an open book to me those next few days. I could read it all in the way you reacted whenever I got close to you. At first I thought I’d done something wrong, but after you assured me that it had been _perfect_ , your reactions were clear,” Eames explained. Arthur frowned and tried half-heartedly to pull his wrists away.

“I didn’t realize I was so pathetically transparent,” he said tightly. Eames let go of Arthur’s wrists to grab his hips instead, pulling Arthur tighter into the vee of his legs as he shifted his own weight further to sit on the desk. He hooked his ankles together behind Arthur’s knees, bracketing him in. He knew Arthur could use any of a hundred moves to get away from him, and the telling fact was that Arthur stayed where he was put, allowing Eames to man-handle him into position.

“Arthur, I watched you slip into subspace. It gave me a unique perception,” Eames told him. Arthur relaxed a tiny bit, mollified by the thought that Eames’ level of understanding was an exception to the rule.

“So you just use this now? No scenes?”

“It’s like… a mini-focusing moment. I can rebalance myself. Not a real reset, like a scene gives me, but it’s enough,” Arthur replied.

“But is it really enough, love?” Eames asked, and his voice had dropped in timbre, his body reacting to the heat of Arthur pressed between his thighs.

“No,” Arthur admitted, and it came out on a whisper of breath as his frame trembled under Eames’ hands.

“Why haven’t you just had an appointment then, Arthur?” Eames pressed, needing to know he wasn’t misreading the signals, because this time, if he crossed the line, it was for keeps, and he needed to know that Arthur would be waiting for him on the other side.

“I haven’t been in range of any of my usual doms.”

“Don’t try to be coy with me, Arthur,” Eames said sternly, and Arthur’s whole body listed forward into Eames.

“I didn’t want to go to them.”

Eames heard Arthur’s voice say the words, but his posture and tone screamed _can’t without you_. Every shiver that passed through Arthur’s skin was Eames’ name, over and over again, and Arthur’s eyes pleaded with Eames to take that final step to close the gap between them.

“This won’t be a one time contract, Arthur. This will be for good. You and I… we’ll belong to each other, play or no play. I want you with no time limit,” Eames said, and Arthur’s lips formed a ghost of the word _Yes_ as he slid his arms around Eames’ waist, fingers digging into the small of his back, trying to press them impossibly closer.

“We’ll have to be... careful... at work, you know... Discreet,” Arthur muttered against Eames’ jaw as he nipped his way along it.

“I think we’ve both proven that we can be the very soul of discretion when we need to,” Eames pointed out as he slid both hands down to cup Arthur’s ass and lift him up onto his toes to better align their hips.

“I don’t want this to just be about scenes, either. I don’t need them that often. If you do, then that’s fine, I’ll do whatever you need, but…” Arthur trailed off and pressed his face into Eames’ neck.

“Darling, I would want this even if you never took another order from me as long as we lived. This isn’t about that, at all. It never has been,” Eames admitted, and he could feel Arthur smiling against his collarbone.

“Good. Speaking of being discreet,” Arthur pulled away enough to look at Eames, his lips twisted in a wicked smirk, “I don’t want the first time you fuck me to be on a desk in our office, so why don’t we head to my hotel?”

Arthur’s laughter filled the empty space as Eames launched from the desk and hauled Arthur out the door so fast their feet slid on the tiled floor.

++++++++++

They were careful, but over time there were clues that no one in their orbits could ignore. The fact that they took more and more jobs together. The fact that Eames only had to get a certain tone in his voice, and Arthur’s attention would snap to him with laser focus. The way Eames was always doing little things to take care of Arthur, small things that if anyone else attempted them Arthur would only reward them with an at best annoyed, and at worst disdainful, expression. Those in their inner circle noticed that Eames’ choice in accommodations improved drastically, because he and Arthur always had rooms in the same hotel now. No one could really figure out just what the clues meant, but they knew it all pointed to something. Eventually they were able to puzzle out enough to know, for a fact, that Arthur and Eames were a couple, although no one, no matter how many people compared notes, could figure out just when, or how, it had happened.

And if no one ever paid attention to the most important clue of all, the leather cuff that Arthur wore on his other wrist, well… Eames and Arthur were okay with that.

(The day Eames had brought it home and laid it on the table, Arthur had eyed it for several minutes, clearly trying to puzzle out its purpose - Eames obviously intended it for Arthur, but it was more something that Eames would wear, and not Arthur’s usual tastes.

He’d given Eames a questioning glance, to which Eames had explained, “I know that you would rather cut off your own arm with a blunt knife than ever wear a collar, darling, but bloody fucking hell, it’s been two years and I want nothing more than to see something on you that marks you as mine.”

Arthur had considered this, very seriously, his fingertip tracing the side-by-side embossed die and poker chip, and finally nodded. The fire that had burned in Arthur’s gaze when Eames tied the supple leather around his bare wrist was enough to singe Eames to the core of his soul. And the sex afterwards… well, suffice it to say that the neighbors had no doubts about who was fucking whom that night.)

Ariadne, in a credit to her always inquisitive nature, was the only one to ever broach the subject. She was working a job with Arthur for the first time in a few months and noticed that Arthur had a tattoo that circled his right wrist and forearm. She had gotten used to seeing the leather cuff there, and wasn’t sure when it had been replaced with ink. It mimicked the cuff he’d worn for years, but with more detail. The background was a labyrinth so complex that she wanted to get a pen and try to trace the path out; the top of his wrist was covered in an intricate knot with such amazing shading that the rope stood out in vivid 3D. She tried, but failed, to get a look at the underside, to see how the design continued.

She didn’t mention it to Arthur until after she went into a dream with him. In the dream, the tattoo on his right wrist and the corded bracelet (which had been replaced numerous times over the years) he still wore on his left wrist morphed into dark lines of inked rope, wrapping down his forearms to circle his wrists, then looping around his thumbs to cross his palms. It was exquisitely beautiful, but somehow dangerous, in a way that Ariadne couldn’t put her finger on.

Once they were out of the dream, she asked Arthur about the new tattoo, wanting to segue into a conversation about what she had seen in the dream. But while Arthur smiled his normal for-Ariadne-smile at her, his tone when he said _It’s personal_ was enough to tell her the subject was not just closed, but was padlocked and probably surrounded by a minefield for protection.

(This time it was Arthur’s idea. He’d been wearing the leather cuff for more than two years, and while he loved the touch of the soft leather that fit his wrist almost like a second skin, he had to admit it seemed to catch on things at the most inopportune times… like when he was trying to wiggle out of a jacket that a mark’s security guard had caught the collar of in an effort to stop him, or when it hooked on the handle of the knife he was trying to grab and he couldn’t twist his hand to grasp it without catching the blade instead.

When Arthur had asked Eames to draw up the design for him, Eames had stared at him in shock for several minutes.

“Are you sure, Arthur?” Eames had finally asked, a bit breathless.

“I suppose that depends on how sure _you_ are, Eames,” Arthur countered, knowing they were talking about more than just the permanence of the ink.  

“Darling, I would have tattooed my name on your forehead years ago if I thought I would have gotten away with it,” Eames replied.

“Well, let’s keep names out of it, shall we? Although I am partial to the die and poker chip,” Arthur hinted with a slight smile as his finger traced the almost worn away edges on the underside of his cuff. He’d done it so many times he was amazed he hadn’t worn through the leather.

So Eames had drawn up the design, and then taken Arthur to a tattoo artist friend of his that he swore was a wizard with the needle. As they walked in, Eames leaned over and whispered in Arthur’s ear.

“I want your eyes on me, Arthur. The entire time. If you do, I’ll reward you.”

“And if I don’t?” Arthur asked, and the hard promise in Eames’ expression was answer enough.

So Arthur had sat in the chair, unflinching, his eyes locked on Eames the entire time the artist had worked on the tattoo. Even when the artist spoke to him, Arthur answered without breaking eye contact. Anticipation swirled between them, and the heat kept building and building until the tension in the room was palpable; he knew the tattoo artist was giving them both odd looks.

When the piece was done and wrapped up, the artist cleared his throat to get their attention. Then, and _only then_ , did their locked gazes break away because Eames turned to thank his friend.

Their neighbors didn’t hear a thing that night, because a few years before they’d made the decision to thoroughly soundproof their flat after too many complaints about the ‘noise’.)

  
And over the years, whenever Eames watched Arthur fire a gun, desire would always rush over him like a tidal wave. There was something about the fierce concentration on Arthur’s face, his slim fingers gripping the gun with such capable ease and the stark black of first the cuff, and later the tattoo, peeking out from under his shirt sleeve - Arthur as a gauntleted warrior. To know that someone that strong could surrender themselves completely to Eames made his heart stutter and made him itch to take Arthur to his knees.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the closest I could find to what I picture Arthur’s cuff to look like, except that his is smooth leather with a die and poker chip embossed on the underside where it isn’t obvious to anyone else, and his would lace along the side of his wrist instead of underneath (to allow for the hidden embossing) - https://img0.etsystatic.com/001/0/6012994/il_570xN.387760296_5o1x.jpg
> 
>  
> 
> And this is the closest that I could find to what I picture the overall shape of his tattoo to be (but filled in as I described in the fic) -  
> http://s3.amazonaws.com/ink_prod/photos/0285/8669/IMAG0017_large.jpg


End file.
